


Behavioral Training

by tristesses



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-04
Updated: 2012-01-04
Packaged: 2017-10-28 21:16:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/312260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tristesses/pseuds/tristesses
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which the Doctor gets rather thoroughly shut up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Behavioral Training

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on 12/26/2008.

They stumble into the elegant hotel room on Hessarstrom-15, Donna gripping the Doctor's lapels like they're the only things keeping her planted on the floor, his hands tangled in her fabulous blaze of hair. Normally, they'd be babbling away to each other about the sights and sounds they'd experienced, but right now their lips and tongues are otherwise occupied, which doesn't leave much room for speech. As they meander to the bed, an inconveniently placed trunk, carved from Venusian oak, gets in the way of Donna's legs and sends both of them sprawling, mere feet from their destination.

"All right," bellows Donna, her volume increased from the amount of alcohol she's imbibed, "what bloody porter thought it'd be a grand idea to put the bloody luggage _in front of the door?_ "

"Well," says the Doctor, somewhat breathless, "it's not really in front of the door, more in the main room and a bit to the left, so I don't think we can blame the porter – "

Donna lolls her head to stare at him, stretches, runs her hands down her torso in a way that's both completely unselfconscious and a deliberate attempt at seduction at the same time. Her silk blouse is partway unbuttoned, the fabric clinging to her skin, and the Doctor can just barely see a hint of the delicate lace of her bra, emphasizing the curve of her breasts. This scrambles his brain for a moment, but he manages to pluck another meaningless sentence from his mind while he organizes himself.

"Anyway, the Hessarians train their workforce really well, exceedingly well, in fact, they're very big on hospitality – " He really can't _think_ with Donna's head on his thigh like that, or with her hands doing…that…

"Oh, Donna," he says quietly, propping himself up on his elbows and staring at her, thanking whatever deities may be listening that they'd decided to dispense with "just mates".

"I'd like to see what else is _very big_ , Doctor," she purrs, stroking the tented pinstripe material at his crotch, undoing his buttons and zip with one adept hand. He gives a little giggle of anticipation, then is suddenly struck by something worrisome.

"Actually," he says quickly, " _actually_ ," as Donna presses her warm mouth against him, "actually I don't know how, er, _impressive_ you'll find me – I mean – well, I hardly go around Earth changing rooms with a measuring tape, so I don't know – "

He yelps and jerks his hips as Donna, sick of his blathering, swirls her tongue around the head of his cock in a cuneiform pattern that clearly translates to "shut it, Doctor, or I'll bite", which he definitely does not want, and what he does want is for her to continue doing whatever she's doing with her mouth and fingers – she is an exceptionally talented woman, he realizes, and vows to tell her so – so he manages to keep the babbling to a minimum. For a little bit. Until he's groaning her name and telling her how amazed he is by her skill and occasionally slipping into other languages.

She pops her head up, quite aggrieved, and asks him, "Can't you shut up for at least thirty bloody seconds? Is it really that difficult?"

"Er – " The correct answer is yes, but before he says it she's fussing with his tie of all things, so instead he tells her, "Donna, I really don't think it matters if my tie's crooked right now – "

"It's not crooked at all," she says, and loops it around his head, tying it firmly in the back, a makeshift gag. He stares at her, still perched on the floor, as she steps around into his line of view, directly by the bed, and strips out of her blouse. He stares at her, still on the floor, as she shimmies out of her skirt and knickers, unclipping her bra. His eyes are very, very wide.

"Come on, Spaceman," she says with a smirk, "are you going to sit on the floor and stare while I take care of myself?"

The answer is an emphatic no, and while he can't say it, the Doctor finds he's perfectly happy with nonverbal communication, proving it to her several times throughout the night.


End file.
